I went on a Halloween tour in the woods expecting to be scared. This seemed like a reasonable expectation for an activity whose staff deliberately hide among trees.
One masked scare actor drew me away from my group and cornered me. Then he stood very close and stared.
That was it. No elaborate speech. No complicated routine. Just a dark, looming figure giving me his undivided attention while I discovered that I apparently had a very specific response to theatrical intimidation.
For what felt like about a minute, he barely did anything. I was full of adrenaline, waiting for whatever came next. The mask made him unreadable, which did absolutely nothing to help. Somewhere in the middle of being scared, I realized I also found him intensely attractive.
It was an inconvenient moment to learn this about myself. I was separated from my group in the woods, and my attention had become embarrassingly focused on the person employed to make that situation worse.
Eventually, he let me go. I started walking through the forest on my own, and he followed for the first few steps. A small finishing touch. Apparently, the prolonged stare needed an encore.
Then I was left to find my way onward, carrying considerably more adrenaline than I’d arrived with.
I still can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t know anything about him beyond the mask and that brief encounter. Nevertheless, a man whose entire contribution was standing close and staring has become remarkably difficult to forget.
